That’s how George MacDonald describes the childless situation of the king and queen of Lagobel in his fairy, The Light Princess. They didn’t have an heir to the throne. This is already a problem for a royal household, more so when the surrounding kingdoms are bursting with princes and princesses, and even more so when the king’s own sister has been eyeing the throne.

At some point, the crown will pass—but to whom?

Perhaps another kingdom will try to absorb Labobel. Perhaps they will do so by force. Perhaps the jealous sister will even orchestrate such a takeover.

But then, a daughter is born.

And the king wastes no time in seeking out spiritual protection for his child. He calls upon the priest to christen her at once. There’s no time to waste.

That is the opening verse for the opening song in the musical:

Eighteen years I’ve waited

A daughter came at last

The kingdom has an heir

The crown can safely pass

Fetch the silver basin

Bring the cross of gold

Let us get her christened

Before the day grows old

MacDonald even said, “If there be music in my reader, I would gladly wake it.”

And in Chapter 2 we meet the first singer: the king’s sister. Long ago, she was disinherited by their father, and she’s held a grudge ever since. MacDonald doesn’t say much more than this, but my theory is that she was the firstborn and therefore should have been the royal heir.

So, when she shows up at the christening of her newborn niece, the tension is electric. Here is her future queen, born from the brother who already usurped her.

It’s the perfect moment for revenge.

Right now, I’m working on the opening song for the musical that captures this scene. And I’m using the exact words that the king’s sister speaks over the princess. Oh, and it’s not exactly a song. It’s a magic spell. Because the king’s sister is secretly a witch. And this is the curse that destroys the princess’s gravity, both physically and emotionally.

Read the words below while you listen to the song. Can you hear her singing it?

Light of spirit, by my charms

Light of body, every part

Never weary human arms

Only crush thy parents’ heart

Did you sing along with her?

Uh-oh. I hope no one got cursed.

Have you ever been scared of falling up?

When I was a kid, I loved to climb trees as high as I could. I didn’t have a fear of heights so I never looked down and worried about falling. It’s the same with anything else high up: towers, skyscrapers, airplanes. Looking down has always felt peaceful.

But I had a strange fear growing up: floating away. In my kid-brain, I reasoned something along the lines of, “Whatever is holding us down could suddenly vanish.” I didn’t really understand the concept of gravity. I just thought that it could be turned off at any moment. And the problem with falling upward is there would be no end to it. You would “fall” forever––unless, of course, you could grab ahold of something quickly.

I’m not sure where this fear came from, but last year I read a book that I wonder whether I read in childhood. It’s a fairy tale by George MacDonald called The Light Princess. In this story, a king and queen finally have a child after waiting years, perhaps decades, for an heir. But at her christening, the princess is cursed with a spell that removes her gravity.

She floats all over the castle and is often blown about by the wind. Anything she wears also loses its gravity. Only by grabbing hold of toads, stones, and pine cones can she temporarily drift back to the ground. The royal servants have to tie her down with silk cords. They’re constantly worried she will float away forever.

Worse, as she grows up, the king and queen realize the princess’s curse is twofold. She’s not only physically weightless but emotionally hollow. News of war gives her no concern. Poverty evokes no empathy. Pain causes no sadness. She only has an empty laugh for every situation. The king and queen realize she can never take the throne. But if she doesn’t, the king’s evil sister is next in line. It’s a lose-lose situation.

MacDonald wrote this story as a lighthearted fairy tale, but the more I read it the more I feel a sharp edge to the tale. How many ways have I tried to shut out my emotions and just float through life? How often have I just wanted to hover, detach? Living without a heavy heart doesn’t sound so bad sometimes. And MacDonald’s genius is getting you to see what a disaster this would make of things. Maybe a kingdom won’t crumble into ruin, but something will.

If you’ve ever thought about these things, then I hope you’ll follow along as I adapt this fairy tale into a musical.

Why a musical?

I’ll explore that in an upcoming post.